Baconfest Chicago 2013: The happy gathering of the baconites

Dani Deahl and Sylvia Jung enjoy the pork-themed merchandise at Baconfest 2013 from the UIC Forum Saturday. (Photo for the Tribune by Taylor Glascock.)

Dani Deahl and Sylvia Jung enjoy the pork-themed merchandise at Baconfest 2013 from the UIC Forum Saturday. (Photo for the Tribune by Taylor Glascock.)

Kevin PangTribune reporter

At some point in the last decade, bacon — for centuries maintaining its simple status as “food product” — took a running leap out of supermarket coolers and landed on T-shirts, transformed into plush toys and became any number of other things that could illustrate a pop cultural reference point.

Then, bacon went from mere noun to adjective. It became a flavor. Sodas, ice cream, breath mints. No matter how awful these tasted, people bought them for the idea it existed at all. Irony: the Millennial’s rebel yell.

On its face, the fifth annual Baconfest Chicago, which took place Saturday at the UIC Forum, seemed the most ironic of all celebrations. A deification of a certain meat, exalted in mock-serious tenor. (Note the organizers’ five-point manifesto, in which they commit “to creating shared bacon experiences that strengthen the bonds of the human community, across religion, across race, across gender, across class.”)

Tongue-in-cheek tone aside, there was little doubt that on this day the corner of Halsted Street and Roosevelt Road housed about 3,000 of the happiest meat-eaters in Chicago.

“Happy. Elated. Kind of a dopamine rush,” said Charlotte Olson, who was first in line with fiance Aaron Samuels. Samuels proposed to Olson on the same day he presented her with $200 Baconfest V.I.P. tickets (V.I.P. status, unlike the regular $100 tickets, afforded guests a one-hour head start). She wore a shirt depicting the ghostly spirit of a pig floating from a bacon slab into porcine heaven, assuring: “It’s what I would have wanted.”

Of all the senses engaged at this sprawling pop-up food court, smell trumped all. Oh, that smell. The singular, intoxicating bacon aroma filled sinuses and penetrated the pores the minute you walked through the convention hall doors. Lord help you if you were wearing a cashmere sweater.

Inside, 128 local restaurants were set up at individual tables, each riffing on variations of the theme. The Lakeview restaurant Hearty spun bacon cotton candy. Wave served chicken-fried bacon with bacon maple caramel. ZED451 had bacon-and-egg ice cream with candied bacon bits. Festival-goers grabbed a plate, took a bite, shuffled to the next table and repeated, dozens of times.

“You have to be judicious about choosing where to eat, otherwise you think you’ll pop,” said Jeff Dickherber, a veteran of two previous Baconfests. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

This fetishization of bacon — one booth sold bacon-flavored toothpaste — begs the question: Why does bacon inspire a passion in a way pizza or the burger doesn’t?

Smallbar chef Justin White theorized it’s the accessibility to American homes. He cited Bac-Os, the meatless salad topper, as the moment bacon culture in America took rise. Here was a flavor so delicious, Bac-Os seemed to convey, that even vegetarians and kosher-diet observers shouldn’t miss out.

Said Pat Sheerin, chef at The Trenchermen in Wicker Park: “It’s the unicorn of food. It’s so magical.” From a cooking perspective, Sheerin said bacon is a versatile ingredient, working well with both savory and sweet flavors. “Tell me one thing that doesn’t go good with bacon. It’s the American umami bomb.”

Perhaps the most ardent bacon fan we encountered was 27-year-old Danielle Wade, who works in human resources. Spunky and effervescent, Wade wore bacon earrings, a necklace featuring moustached bacon, bacon kneesocks and a T-shirt that read, “Get Bacon-Faced This Weekend.” She was eager to show her Facebook page on her smartphone; the profile picture was her at last year’s Baconfest with an “I Love Bacon” sign.

“There’s a short list of things I love: family, travel, friends and bacon,” Wade said. “This is like Christmas to me.”

Overseeing it all was 35-year-old Seth Zurer, one of three co-founders of the festival. Five years ago, he and two theater friends attended a Neo-Futurists musical about craft beers. Then came the epiphany.

“Those guys were so passionate about beer, we thought, ‘What are we most passionate and can write a show about? Bacon,’” Zurer said. “Then we thought, ‘Forget it, let’s just throw a party.’”

For its first year, 2009, Baconfest was held at The Publican restaurant, attended by 75 guests with 10 chefs participating. The next year the festival moved to Logan Square and drew 600 visitors — then 1,600 the year after and 3,000 last year, both at UIC. This October, Baconfest is heading to San Francisco, with plans of expanding to Washington, D.C., and Green Bay, Wis. It’s become a massive endeavor now, requiring 70 volunteers and 60 caterers, to the point Zurer hopes organizing the festival will become his full-time job. (The festival is donating $50,000 to the Greater Chicago Food Depository this year.)

After the 10th plate of sampling, taste buds and olfactory receptors sufficiently numb, the other senses start to take over being bombarded. Pink balloons with pig faces. A boy dressed in a pig costume dancing with guests. Camera flashes, bacon-flavored vodka coursing in the bloodstream, and every fourth T-shirt, it seemed, mocking vegetarians.